Mother's Day
by enthusiasmgirl
Summary: Matt's got a hole inside of him where he knows a mother's love is supposed to be. But time, friendship and family help make it better.


Matt had always hated Mother's Day. From as early as he could remember, it was difficult for him. He would watch the other kids on his block hug their mothers, see the signs and card displays in storefronts, and feel a sharp burning sting deep down in his chest.

Of course, the pain was always there. But the other 364 days of the year it was dulled, hazy, a constant companion that Matt had learned to live with. Mother's Day made the ache grow and the fire spread. It reminded him that there was a hole inside of him where a mother's love should be.

One Mother's Day, when he was six, his teachers had noticed him sitting motionless and quiet while the other children buzzed with activity around him, preparing their Mother's Day cards. They had encouraged Matt to make one for his dad, which hadn't sounded like a bad idea. Matt had thrown himself into the project, wanting to get it just right. It was bright blue (Matt had avoided the pinks the other kids were using) and it had a picture of a boxing glove on it.

And the teachers were right. It did make him feel better about not having a mother. Until he gave it to his dad that Sunday morning. Matt knew it was a mistake when his dad got a faraway look in his eyes and accepted it without a word. No thank you, no hug, no smile of gratitude. Just silence and sadness.

They never talked about her. Matt knew that she had died when he was born, and he knew that his dad loved her, but otherwise she was just gone. A few pictures, but no gravestone that he had ever visited, no outpouring of memories shared by relatives or friends. She had no family, and all that she had left Matt was his dad. Matt knew he should be grateful for that, because he loved his dad more than anything, but sometimes it just made him hate her for leaving them. He knew that he shouldn't feel that way, that she hadn't chosen to die, but he felt the way he felt.

As he got older, the hatred only grew.

His accident left him unable to take care of his dad properly, unable to take care of himself even. He wished that he had someone, anyone else, to lighten his burden. But there was no one.

Sometimes at night, when his dad was at the gym and he was alone for dinner, he'd sit on the stoop outside and listen to the sounds of real families enjoying each others company. Without his sight, it was easy for him to listen to the softly spoken maternal love emanating from so many of the homes in the neighborhood and imagine that the inquiries, compliments and encouragements he heard were directed at him. "How was your day today?" his pretend mothers would ask. "I told you you'd do well on that test," they'd say. Sometimes, if he were really lucky, he'd overhear a gentle lullaby or an "I love you so much."

When his dad was gone, he took solace in the fact that at least he had the nuns. They were good women, kind and thoughtful. More importantly, from the moment he arrived at St. Agnes it was like they were able to see right through him, to recognize the hole inside of him. Matt appreciated the efforts that they made to try to fill it. They befriended him and provided him with a loving support he had never experienced before. They taught him to play the organ, and encouraged him to take larger roles in the church services and to assist them with their charitable work and community outreach. But there was only so much they could do. And he couldn't stay at St. Agnes forever.

By the time he left St. Agnes, the seething hatred had turned into a empty longing that was always with him, that sat in the pit of his chest and told him that he was unloved, alone, unworthy. So much so that he sometimes forgot that everyone didn't live that way. Which was never a problem until he moved in with Foggy.

Foggy loved his mother. More than anyone Matt had ever met. And she loved her son. The problem for Matt was how often they expressed that love and how they chose to do it.

The first time Matt overheard a conversation between Foggy and his mother, they had only been living together a day. Matt couldn't help but eavesdrop. Their dorm room was very small, and phone conversations were very loud when they were that close to him. And this conversation was long.

Foggy's mother's voice was warm and affectionate, and Matt listened as she not only checked in on her son, but asked for a breakdown of his entire first few days at school.

"Awww, mom," Foggy said, a whine in his voice, "I just left you last week! You miss me that much already?"

"You know I do, sweetheart," she said. "It's just not the same without you here."

"I miss you too," Foggy said back. And Matt knew how much he meant it.

The pair talked for hours. Foggy shared details with his mother that Matt didn't realize anyone shared with their mother. She called once a week at least, usually more, and through those calls Matt learned more about his friend and the goings on at his father's hardware store than he could have possibly otherwise known. And Matt found it so easy to close his eyes and imagine that it was him having the conversation, just as he had done on his stoop so many many years earlier.

She sent care packages. Freshly baked cookies, and new underwear, and spare toothbrushes in case Foggy forgot to change his regularly. And Matt always got a stinging pain in his chest, wishing that they were for him.

One day, after he and Foggy had been living together for several months, Foggy offered to pass the phone to Matt. "Huh?" Matt asked.

"She wants to talk to you," Foggy said.

"Why?" Matt asked.

"Because she's an old busybody who needs to know everything about me," Foggy replied, "and since I've told her so much about you she wants to get to know you." Matt knew from what he had overheard that the busybody part was correct.

The conversation was only a few minutes. She asked him how he was doing. He said fine. She thanked him for taking such good care of her son. Told him he sounded like a very studious and upstanding young man. Told him how sorry she was to hear what had happened to him.

Towards the end of the conversation, she said something that Matt would never forget. "I want you to know that my Foggy has a good heart. And he's let you into it. And if he's done that, well then as far as I'm concerned you're one of mine now. So don't hesitate to reach out to me if you need anything, okay?" He stuttered an okay back, a lump forming in the back of his throat.

"And Matt?" she asked.

"Uh huh?" he said, unable to form words suddenly.

"I expect to see you over the holidays. Don't you worry about the space. We've got a cot with your name on it, and there's always more than enough food. You take care of yourself, now."

"Thank you, I will," Matt replied, handing the phone back to Foggy in a daze.

Foggy finished up his conversation, and when it ended he looked over to see Matt laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"She's pretty great, isn't she?" Foggy asked.

"She is," Matt said, honestly. "She invited me for the holidays."

"I know," Foggy said. "I asked her to."

Matt didn't know what to say. He just knew that his heart felt like it might explode from his chest. He felt Foggy flop down onto his bed next to him.

"How did you know?" he asked his friend. "That I miss her. I've never told anyone."

"Because of course you miss her," Foggy said. "She was your mom. You don't need to have met her to miss her, Matt. And Everyone deserves to know what it's like to have a mom. So I figure I'm okay sharing." Matt could only smile at that.

From that day forward, the care packages that arrived at their dorm room always had something in them just for Matt. There were even presents for him under the Nelson family Christmas tree.

And Matt stopped hating Mother's Day. in fact, he looked forward to it every year. Because it meant getting to pick out the most lavish gift he could think of to send to Mrs. Nelson. And it meant overhearing her ask to speak to him after she'd finished talking to Foggy, and hearing her praise him and tell him he'd gone overboard. And it meant getting laid into by Foggy about making him look like a bad son for only sending a card and flowers.

And the hole inside of him that fed the voice telling him that he didn't have a mother, that he didn't have a family, never went away. But it got easier. Because Matt finally understood the thing he had been missing. He had Foggy.


End file.
